Jean named her school and mentioned Richter.
"But I have accomplished nothing yet," she added.
"Ha!" said the old lady. "Then it's time you did. I shall ask Richter about it. If I forget your name, I'll describe your eyes. There is something singularly familiar about your eyes."
The men and Mrs. Van Ostade made a simultaneous entrance, and the latter at once bore down on Jean's catechist.
"Peroni will sing," she announced with a note of triumph. "He volunteered as a mark of respect to you."
"Really!" The octogenarian's smile was extraordinarily expressive. "Yet they call him mercenary."
The opening bar of an accompaniment issued from the music-room, and Jean joined the drift toward the piano. She wondered who this sprightly personage might be for whom the spoiled tenor volunteered, and then, in the magic of his voice, forgot to wonder.
In the babel following the hush, MacGregor leaned over her chair.
"So the irrepressible conflict is on?" he greeted her.
Jean's welcome was whole-hearted.